


Don't Change a Thing

by notastranger



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Community: rotg_kink, M/M, chubby!Sandy body worship, lots of dessert metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notastranger/pseuds/notastranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch is craving something sweet and Sandy learns that he is perfect just the way he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Change a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in response to this prompt: http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=4652117 a request for some short, sassy, puff pastry Sandy love.

How did it come to this, Pitch thought sullenly as he stood underneath the giant globe in North's workshop, the same globe whose lights he tried to extinguish a mere five years ago. Now it burned brighter than any Christmas tree, and the irony was that Pitch was partially responsible. He had helped the Guardians (albeit reluctantly) defeat a common enemy and preserve the precious beliefs of the world’s children. And finally – _finally_ – Manny and his gang of do-gooders admitted that fear was necessary and that Pitch provided something valuable to the world, something worth believing in.

Not that he and the other Guardians were friends now. Perish the thought. He was only here at North's request, to talk of better ways to handle the dark nights between Halloween and Christmas. Except North didn't tell him there was going to be a bloody cocktail hour first. He really had to stand here and make small talk with everyone while repeatedly refusing eggnog and cookies? He folded his arms across his chest and did his best impression of a brooding gargoyle to avoid any meaningless conversation. Eventually the others would leave and he and North could get down to business.

Someone tugged on his robe. "I said I don't want any cookies," he snarled, looking down and expecting to see a tiny jingling elf.

It wasn't an elf. Sandman peered up at him with raised eyebrows and Pitch stepped back, robes fluttering around his legs like a frightened animal. "Oh. Didn't see you there, little man." He smirked to cover up his nervousness. "Perhaps you should wear one of those pointy hats with a bell on top to herald your arrival."

Sandman floated up so that he was eye-level with Pitch and the taller man self-consciously swallowed. They had worked together closely during this recent crisis (and rather well, to Pitch's surprise), but Sandman had never explicitly forgiven him for the arrow in the back and could easily wipe the floor with him on a moment’s whim. Pitch was nearly ashamed of himself: the Nightmare King, frightened of a round little glowworm! Sandy looked more like some sort of delicate pastry than a dangerous warrior. Yes, some sort of light, airy confection meant to be savored, like spun sugar melting on the tongue...

Pitch blinked. Sandman had asked him a question. "Pardon?" he said, reeling in his wandering thoughts.

Sandy rolled his eyes and re-formed sand symbols above his head. _Not having a good time?_

The corner of Pitch's mouth turned downward. "Oh no, I'm having a delightful time. Nothing better than listening to the rabbit and Frost argue over how much snow should fall in New England in March, or Tooth’s monologue about proper flossing technique."

 _Just pretend to fall asleep,_ Sandman suggested. _Works for me._

Pitch's laugh was genuine, and seemed to surprise both himself and Sandy. "I always wondered why you doze off at the most opportunistic moments. Very clever, old man.”

A yeti walked by with a loaded serving tray. Sandy picked up a glass of eggnog but politely waved away the sweets. _I don't like the cookies here, either. I can bring something better to our next meeting._

"I'd like that," Pitch replied, relaxing slightly. A small smile graced his angular face and Sandman returned it before sipping his eggnog.

North approached. "Pitch! Sandy!" he boomed, breaking the comfortable silence. "Sorry to be interrupting, but Pitch and I have much to discuss."

Sandman nodded and waved his goodbyes. Pitch followed North back to his office and felt strangely disappointed that his conversation with the golden Guardian was over.

 

***

 

The next meeting was less than a month later, and as Pitch took a seat in North's office, he wondered what sorts of desserts Sandman would be bringing. Not that he made a habit of eating much; he lived on fear, not food. But occasionally he had an urge to bite into something sweet, and he vaguely hoped Sandy’s offering would not disappoint.

Bunnymund and Tooth, as usual, sat down about as far from Pitch as possible while still being in the same room. It used to amuse him, but now he felt a bit isolated, all alone against the wall. Perhaps Sandman would sit next to him, he hoped, even though the thought made him a little anxious.

His robes fluttered in a gust of icy wind as Jack Frost plopped into a nearby chair, legs dangling over the side. "Hey, Pitch." The winter sprite rested his staff across his lap. "Shall we combine our powers and get the meeting started?"

Pitch clenched his jaw. That insolent brat was never going to let him live down his sincere (albeit manipulative) offer of partnership all those years ago. The boy had feared him, hated him, and finally pitied him, but his reconciliation with Manny meant that Jack could cast aside misplaced feelings of guilt and tease him without remorse.

North walked in with Sandman before Jack could poke any more fun. "Sandy has been kind enough to bring some desserts to meeting," he announced, placing a treat-laden tray on his desk. The other Guardians hopped out of their seats, selecting various confections and thanking Sandy for his thoughtfulness. Aside from North, no one had much stomach for Christmas cookies after all these years.

Pitch finally stood, not wanting to appear too eager, and perused the remaining desserts. "The cream puffs are really good," Jack suggested, stuffing the last bite of one into his mouth.

"I'll pass," Pitch muttered. He carefully selected a straw-like wafer filled with dark cream. Returning to his seat, he took a small nibble and was pleasantly surprised by its subtle sweetness. He nodded to Sandman by way of thanks. Yes, much better than a Christmas cookie.

 

***

 

North got the meeting started, but Sandy barely paid attention, instead transfixed by Pitch's cookie consumption. He watched as the taller man delicately bit into the wafer's crispy surface, pausing to carefully catch any loose crumbs with his tongue before solemnly chewing and swallowing. He didn't miss a thing, including Pitch using his nightmare sand to snag a second, then third cookie.

It made Sandy happy that Pitch was enjoying his dessert. He had put a great deal of thought into selecting treats that everyone would like, Pitch especially. He wanted Pitch to associate him with something sweet instead of the bitter altercations they had in the past. Sandman certainly did. He wasn't sure when his crush for the Nightmare King began, but as someone who had spent most of his existence creating dreams, he didn't question his feelings or the logic behind them.

But he did question Pitch's choice of sweets. Why didn't he want the cream puff? Cream puffs were soft and delicious. Sandy even drizzled one with chocolate to appeal to Pitch's darker tastes. Instead Pitch went for a tall, thin wafer. Is that what Pitch wanted to sink his teeth into, something hard and crisp?

Sandy's gaze shifted from Pitch to Jack. The white-haired sprite was the only other Guardian that Pitch spoke to regularly. Maybe that was the kind of shape Pitch preferred? He did ask Jack to join him in his quest for world domination. He never bothered to ask Sandy, even as a ruse to steal his dream sand, and they had known each other far longer.

Sandy frowned and poked at his round stomach. He had never given his shape much thought before. Maybe now he should.

 

***

 

Pitch slouched in his chair as the meeting slowly neared its end. It was amazing children still believed in anything with how much time was wasted by all this blathering. He contemplated pretending to doze off as Sandman had suggested, or perhaps going into some sort of trance to pass the remaining minutes.

He glanced the dream-weaver's way and was startled to discover the other spirit staring at him intently. Pitch stiffened with worry. Had he done something wrong? Taken too many cookies? But then Sandy blinked, and rather sheepishly waved before returning his attention to North.

Okay, that was strange. Pitch frowned a little and looked over at the remaining desserts on North's desk, but the only treat left was a cream puff. Too bad. He had no interest in consuming something so messy and blandly sweet… although its shape reminded him of a certain Guardian. He chuckled silently, wondering if it would be cannibalistic for Sandman to eat it instead. No, he decided, Sandman probably tasted nothing like a pastry. He was soft, certainly, but firm and fleshy, like a ripe peach. His smooth, supple skin wouldn’t be bland at all, but spicy like a sweetened chai, and hot as milky foam on Pitch’s tongue as he--

"Pitch?" Jack snapped his fingers in front of the other man's face. "Earth to Pitch. Meeting's over."

Pitch blinked slowly and looked around, as if he really had been in a trance. Jack was standing in front of him, looking vaguely concerned. Everyone else had already left the office.

Had he really been imagining what Sandy _tasted_ like?

Had he _liked_ it?

Jack frowned. "Are you all right? You look really flushed. And hungry."

Pitch was suddenly grateful for his long, dark robes. "Jack," he growled, not quite looking the winter sprite in the eye, "I am about to ask you to do something for me, but you must not ask why or interpret my request as an invitation to do this again, _ever_." He took in a deep breath. "Hit me in the face with a snowball."

Jack was confused, but he wasn't about to pass up such an opportunity. He formed a snowball in one hand and then flung it into Pitch's face. He watched as Pitch methodically wiped the snow out of his eyes and muttered a very quiet, "Thank you."

"Uh, no problem." Pitch wordlessly sank into the shadows and disappeared. Jack shook his head. "Weird," he announced to the empty room before snagging the last cream puff.

 

***

 

Back in his lair, Pitch anxiously paced up and down the crumbling stairwells as he puzzled over his newly discovered feelings for Sandman. Where had this urge to sink his mouth into the dream-weaver’s golden flesh even come from? He had known Sandman for thousands of years -- they hadn't always fought, but they'd never really gotten along, either. Pitch was always envious of the glittering sprite's ability to manipulate dream sand, and even in the dark ages when belief in the Boogeyman was at its peak, he was still deeply afraid of clashing with those whirling, stinging whips.

But wasn't his jealousy as passionate as any lover's? And wasn't the body's reaction to fear and arousal often the same?

No. It could never work. Sandy had an amazing capacity for forgiveness, but the sins Pitch committed in his quest for power were too great. He had killed Sandy with an arrow to the back, a low blow even for him. Not to mention the countless times he slashed at the other spirit with his scythe, or hurled insults, or tried to steal his dream sand...

"Blast it!" Pitch's curse echoed off the cavernous ceiling, startling a few shadowy bats from their roost. Why hadn't he tried to recruit Sandman centuries ago, when he had the chance?

He sat down on a stony step and sighed dramatically. No use dwelling on what could have been. He’d just have to somehow stifle this ridiculous crush by the time he saw the little dream-weaver again.

Except Sandman didn't show up at the next Guardian gathering, or the one after that. Rather than fade, Pitch's desire grew exponentially. He didn't know which was worse, the nervous anticipation of seeing Sandy, or the crushing disappointment when the dream-weaver didn't appear. Was he avoiding Pitch? Maybe he had somehow guessed the Nightmare King's change of heart and was repulsed by the mere thought of the two of them together.

That possibility made Pitch feel worst of all.

Occasionally he caught sight of Sandman sending out dreams from atop his cloud of glittering sand. Sandy would smile and wave, but never stayed long enough for Pitch to engage him in conversation. Those fleeting glimpses only fueled the flames of his passion and he was distracted for hours afterwards, imagining his lips pressing kisses into Sandy's buttery skin and along his cherubic jaw before yanking down his ascot and sucking at the warm, doughy flesh of his neck.

On those nights, children mostly had nightmares of getting sick on too much cake. Toothiana appreciated the sentiment (fewer sweets meant fewer cavities), but it left her and her fairies puzzled for quite some time.

 

***

 

Another meeting, another tedious bout of socialization before North would get onto business. At least this time there was hot chocolate to drink in addition to eggnog, although it wasn't nearly bitter enough for Pitch's taste. He sipped his mug of cocoa and shot not-so-inconspicuous glances upward. Would Sandman show up this time, or was he doomed to disappointment yet again? 

Ribbons of dream sand streamed down from a window high above and coalesced underneath North's globe. Pitch felt his stomach flip in anticipation and he gripped the handle of his mug a little tighter.

A figure stepped out of the golden glitter and Pitch nearly spilled his cocoa. The idle chatter of the Guardians ground to a halt, mirroring his surprise. Whoever had just appeared in North's workshop couldn't possibly be Sandman. He was far too tall, far too… _pretty_. And yet it was the same familiar golden glow, the same warm amber eyes, and the same sand symbols greeting everyone.

"Sandy?" Tooth finally spoke, the first to find her voice. "Is that you?" She flitted over and tentatively touched his perfectly tousled hair. "You're so tall!" 

Bunnymund ambled over, casually re-holstering his boomerang. "Not quite as tall as me, mate, but I bet you can see eye to eye with ol' Frosty."

Pitch's gaze flickered from Sandy to Jack. Yes, they were about the same height. And, now that Pitch thought about, the same slender, youthful build as well.

Jack swooped over to Sandy on a gust of winds. "You've got new threads, too!" Sandy had indeed traded his ascot and footie pajamas for a long military-cut jacket and high-waist pants. "Why the change, Sandy? What happened?"

The other Guardians echoed Jack's question and Sandy shook his head shyly, flattered by the attention but not wanting to answer. North finally clapped his hands and gestured to his office doors. "Enough pestering of Sandy. We have all changed appearance over time, da? Come, it is time to start meeting."

 

***

 

Sandy tugged at the sleeves of his jacket as he slowly followed the other Guardians. His outfit wasn't very comfortable, but his usual pajamas would look silly on his new frame. Anyway, everyone seemed to like it! Well, everyone except Pitch. The (still) taller man hadn't said a word to him after he arrived, just turned and walked into North's office with a small frown on his face.

It was so strange being this tall. He walked instead of floated to give more practice to his new, coltish legs. Pitch was just settling into a chair and as luck would have it, there was an empty seat next to him. Sandy offered the other man what he hoped was a suave smile and attempted to lean on the back of the empty chair and strike an alluring pose.

He misjudged the distance and tipped the chair forward, losing his balance in the process and falling upon it. "Oh! Sandy, are you okay?" Tooth called out worriedly. Sandy nodded, cheeks turning orange in embarrassment, and slowly disentangled himself from the seat. How on earth did anyone manage to move normally with such ridiculously long limbs? He brushed his hair out of his face with a huff and looked up at the sound of squeaking.

It was Pitch. The man had a hand pressed to his mouth so hard that his gray knuckles had turned white. He was shivering all over and let out another involuntary squeak as his eyes crinkled up in unbridled mirth.

He was _laughing_ at him!

Sandy tried to scowl, but with his new delicate features, the best he could manage was an offended pout. Pitch coughed into his hand, as if his laughter was a piece of food stuck in his throat. "Here," he said, almost apologetically, and put Sandman's chair back into an upright position.

The attempt at sitting went much better, despite the strange and unwelcome feeling of his feet touching the ground. North began the meeting and Sandy did not attempt any more enticing poses, but he did glance at Pitch from time to time. When the other man finally met his gaze, Sandy was disappointed to see only confusion in those silver-gold eyes.

He formed a question mark above his head and Pitch leaned in. "Why the extreme makeover?" he whispered. Sandy shrugged enigmatically. "Don't give me that look," Pitch hissed, "In all the time I've known you, you’ve barely changed your appearance. What's so different n--"

"Pitch? Something you'd like to share with rest of class?" North asked, more amused than annoyed.

Pitch crossed his arms over his chest and fell silent. North continued whatever he was saying and Sandy didn't bother looking over at the Nightmare King again.

 

***

 

Meeting adjourned, Sandy stood up and hurried out of the room, his long strides awkward but speedy. Tooth and Jack left shortly thereafter to return to their duties.

Pitch, meanwhile, was still brooding in his chair over Sandman's physical change. What was that ridiculous little (except, not so little anymore) glowworm thinking? Why change a look that had suited him so well before? Pitch missed his sweet curves, the soft lines of his face, his small delicate hands.

Maybe Sandman knew all this, Pitch thought dourly. Maybe he changed his appearance to keep Pitch's affections at bay. The thought hurt more than expected.

"Pitch." North was standing in front of him, Bunnymund at his side. "Can we talk to you for moment? Is about Sandy."

Pitch stood up, idly smoothing out his robes. "Yes, what is it?" he asked tersely, still distracted by the unpleasant sting of rejection.

"Well, as you noticed, Sandy was not looking his usual self. Bunny and I do not think his change was due to effects of being Guardian. We were hoping you could visit his castle and talk to him about this."

"Me?" Pitch was surprised by the request. "Why not one of you?"

"You're more familiar with shape-shifting than either of us." Bunnymund answered, idly scratching behind an ear. "You'll have a better idea of what he’s up to."

Pitch sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was confront Sandman in his own home, but the rabbit did have a point. "All right. But don't blame me if I can't get any answers out of him. It's like looking for a needle in a glitter-soaked haystack."

He departed as usual, by sinking into the shadows. Bunny worked at the itch again and looked at North. "You sure that was a good idea?"

The Guardian of Wonder nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Do not worry, I have good feeling in belly about this. Sandy will be back to usual self, soon."

 

***

 

Sandy shrunk down to his normal proportions as soon as his returned home. He let out a breath and patted his stomach, making sure everything was back in its proper place. It just felt _wrong_ being all stretched out like that.

He headed to his bathroom – a simple space with a large window framing the ocean -- and filled up the round bathtub with hot water. He needed a good soak after all that effort to stay tall and slim. Shaping the sand was one thing, but his body wasn't as malleable. And there hadn't been any point to it anyway, Pitch didn't seem attracted to his new form.

Maybe he wasn't tall enough? Or maybe it didn't matter how he looked, Pitch did not have those sorts of feelings for him. The thought left him unusually depressed. His sandy clothes disappeared and he floated into the bath, sinking down until the water was up to his chin.

He shut his eyes and tried to relax, then frowned as something tickled at the edge of his consciousness. Someone had set foot on his island. It was probably one of the other Guardians checking on him, wondering why he had left in such a hurry. He sat up and reached for a bar of vanilla-scented soap and dipped it into the bath. Might as well get a quick scrub in before he properly greeted his company.

 

***

 

Pitch had visited Sandman's island before, but it was still all too easy to get lost in the castle’s maze-like halls. Like a dream, there didn’t seem to be any way to get logically from point A to point B, and he knew he was walking in circles. Wasn’t there a sitting room or something where he could cool his heels and let Sandman find him? The dream-weaver must know he had a visitor by now.

The sound of splashing water caught his attention as he passed an elaborately decorated archway and peered inside, hoping to spot a mermaid or some other sea creature with enough sense to point him in the right direction.

Instead, he found Sandman sitting in his bath with his back turned, scrubbing shampoo into his hair.  The smell of vanilla assaulted Pitch's nose and his throat went dry. He had the perfect view of Sandy's petite, round form, the golden skin glistening from the water like a shiny egg wash on a fresh-baked brioche. His eyes traveled along every curve, from the underside of the other man's upper arms down to the sloping sides of his generous waist. Oh, how he longed to sink his fingers into that tender flesh!

Sandy leaned forward to rinse his hair under the faucet and Pitch bit down on his fist to stifle a moan. The dream-weaver's pert, round bottom was as rosy as a nectarine. He shut his eyes, imagining how it would feel to slide his hands over the dimpled surface, pressing into the skin with the barest touch --

He must not have been so successful in stifling that moan. Sandman pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and looked right at Pitch. An exclamation point shot up above his head and he ducked so quickly into the bath that water sloshed over the side.

Pitch moaned again, but for a completely different reason. Oh, crap. He was so dead.

Before he could turn tail and run, Sandy reappeared, his large amber eyes peering over the edge of the tub. Demands for privacy and accusing questions formed in the sand. What was Pitch doing here?

"North and Bunny asked me to check on you because of your shape change and I tried to find a sitting room but your damn castle is impossible to navigate and if you want privacy why don’t you have a door on your bathroom instead of an archway?" Pitch replied defensively, wincing inwardly at how much he sounded like a babbling idiot.  Any minute now, Sandman was going to beat him to a bloody pulp, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Sandy sat up a little, an orange blush creeping across his cheeks. _You couldn’t just stand somewhere and wait?_

"No." Pitch exhaled shakily and then approached the tub and dropped to his knees. He was probably going to get attacked no matter what he did, so he might as well go for broke. “No, I can’t wait.”

He threaded a hand through Sandy’s wet hair and then leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the other man’s lips. Sandy opened his mouth in surprise and Pitch took advantage, sliding his tongue inside and exploring as much as he could. His technique was sloppy and hurried, but he wanted to find out what Sandman tasted like before the little man regained his wits and forced him away.

He was sweet, just as Pitch suspected, but rich, too, like heavy cream, and faintly spicy. It was more delicious -- more _satisfying_ \-- than anything he had ever tasted before.

Dream sand wrapped around Pitch's frame and he tensed, expecting to be slammed into the nearest wall. Instead, to his surprise, he was lifted up and dumped into the bath. He sat up with a sputter and wiped a hand over his wet face.

Sandy was staring at him with an open-mouthed smile, his eyes shining bright like stars. Then he launched himself at Pitch, covering his face with eager, hungry kisses. His tongue teasingly parted Pitch’s lips and this time, it was Sandy who did the exploring. Pitch had barely enough presence of mind to kiss back, shocked into submission by the reciprocation of his feelings.

Sandy broke his kiss with an audible smack and placed several love bites along Pitch's jaw and throat. Pitch groaned lowly, coming undone at the sensation, but didn't interrupt, not even when Sandy's tiny hands began exploring underneath his soaked robes, pulling them apart and sliding along his ribcage.

But when the tendril of dream sand ran along the inside of his thigh and lightly teased his groin, that's when he knew he needed to wrest back control or risk losing it altogether. "Sandy," he moaned throatily. "Not-- not yet--"

 _Not yet what?_ Sandman asked cheekily, increasing the pressure.

Pitch's eyes rolled back at the sensation. "Sandy," he growled. He wrapped his hands around the dream-weaver's wrists and squeezed, willing him to stop. "I won't last if you keep doing that."

Sandy withdrew his dream sand and leaned in to kiss Pitch's forehead. _I don't mind. I can wait for you to be ready again. And again._

"That's good to know," Pitch admitted, fighting back another moan. "But this time--" He let go of one of Sandy's hands and lightly brushed his fingers down the dream-weaver's golden chest, "I want to taste you first. All of you."

The blush on Sandman's skin was as dark as a blood orange. He nodded wordlessly and climbed out of the bath, wrapping a towel around himself before beckoning Pitch to join him.

It wasn't a long walk to the bedroom (and they must have passed at least three different sitting rooms along the way, how did Pitch _miss_ them all before). Like all the other rooms, the bedroom furniture was various hues of gold, artfully accented by mother-of-pearl iridescence. The large canopied bed was covered in satin sheets and several large pillows. "Just one of those would be enough for you to sleep on," Pitch couldn't help but comment.

Sandy shrugged and floated up to sit on the bed, towel still modestly wrapped around his lower half. He looked at Pitch expectantly, then frowned and gestured at the black robes, still dripping bathwater.

"Oh..." Pitch had forgotten about his clothing. He waved a hand and the shadowy material disappeared. Sandman's eyes widened as he took a good, long look, and when Pitch joined him on the bed, the dream-weaver immediately tried to tackle him. Pitch shoved him back onto one of the pillows, holding down Sandy's arms in a tender but firm grip. "Wait your turn, little man," he growled into a golden ear before nipping it playfully.

He hadn't been speaking figuratively when he said he wanted to taste all of Sandman. Each kiss, bite, or suck was preceded by a slow, methodical lick as Pitch worked his way down Sandy’s body, reveling in the sweet, heady flavor. He was selfishly slow in his exploration, but took note of what spots caused the other man to tremble or squirm and lavished them with attention.

After he had his fill of Sandy's upper half, he sat up a little and loosened his grip on the smaller man's arms. He held one small, delicate hand up to his mouth and licked it from palm to fingertip. "I'll let go," he purred, looking down at his precious dream-weaver who was panting silently, forehead dotted with perspiration, "If you promise to be good."

A glittering halo appeared above Sandman's head. Pitch smirked and let go. He slid his hand along the towel’s edge before pulling it off, revealing Sandy’s ample hips and creamy thighs, as well as his aching arousal. It appeared not everything about the Sandman was soft. Or little.

Pitch bit his lip and unconsciously rutted his pelvis against the bed before taking a deep shuddering breath and reigning in his desire. He lightly scraped his teeth on the warm flesh of Sandy's inner thighs as his hands gently stroked the sides of the round bottom he had admired earlier. He couldn't help but linger here, where the spicy undertones of Sandy's scent were more fragrant, but all too soon he felt little hands tug urgently at his hair and he knew he had reached the limit of Sandy's patience.

Without preamble, he slid Sandy's erection into his mouth and sucked hard. He let his tongue do most of the work while his hands traveled elsewhere, skimming over other sensitive, private areas.

He looked up to gauge the quality of his performance and was pleased by the sight. Sandy's head was tilted back, eyes wide and unseeing. Nonsense symbols danced above his head while his fingers gripped and pulled at the sheets. It wasn't long before he was bucking helplessly, eyes squeezing shut as his pleasure reached its peak.

When he came into Pitch's mouth, the Nightmare King learned that not every part of Sandman tasted sweet, either. But the whispered moan of "Pitch" that fell from Sandy's lips at his climax was richer than the purest syrup, and he had to shut his eyes or risk falling over the edge with him.

Little hands ran through Pitch's damp hair and he wiped his mouth against Sandy's soft stomach before crawling up and pressing a kiss on the dream-weaver's freckled nose. Their eyes met and Pitch marveled at the affection reflected in them. "Still mad I walked in on you unannounced?" he murmured, thin lips parting into a coy smile.

Sandy placed his hands on Pitch’s shoulders and pushed with surprising force, flipping the taller man onto his back.  _No, but I think you owe me a turn_ , he replied, ribbons of dream sand sliding along Pitch's thighs. Pitch chuckled softly, then gasped as one tendril coiled itself around the base of his cock and squeezed.

 _Don’t worry_ , Sandman grinned as he leaned in and lightly bit Pitch’s lower lip. _I’ll make sure you last_.

 

***

The Guardian of Dreams was thorough and relentless, using his mouth and hands to explore every inch of the Nightmare King. He was also true to his word, the tight, glittering ring of sand preventing Pitch from climaxing until he was begging for sweet release.

When he finally returned to his senses, Sandman was straddling his chest, licking his fingers as if he had just finished eating a sticky bun. He smiled down at Pitch smugly.

"You're a sadistic little bastard," Pitch grunted, pushing sweat-soaked hair off his brow.

Sandy giggled silently, then tilted his head, a heart and a question mark appearing above it. Pitch huffed once, then reached up and captured the tiny sand heart in his hand. When he opened his fist, the sand was still as golden as its master.

The dream-weaver beamed and showered Pitch’s face with kisses. Pitch returned the affection lazily, hands lightly stroking Sandy’s back, until the smaller man slid off to the side and curled up against him.

 _That wouldn’t have been as much fun if I were still skinny_ , Sandy mused.

“No, not at all,” Pitch agreed, then propped himself up on an elbow and peered down at his lover incredulously. “Wait. Don’t tell me you tried making yourself taller just so I’d find you more attractive?”

Sandy’s blush was all the confirmation he needed. “You silly little man,” he laughed. “You of all people should know that I'm not one to judge by appearances." A shadowy hand rubbed the warm underside of Sandy's stomach and Pitch's voice took on a darker, deeper tone. "Not when my other form is inhuman enough for the both of us."

Sandy grasped the dark hand and raised it to his lips, giving it a tender bite.  Pitch's mouth twitched. "Careful. You'll make the rest of me want to come out and play."

Sandman smiled. Was that a challenge? He accepted, gladly.

Pitch growled, his smile widening inhumanly and his eyes narrowing into cat-like slits. His body unraveled into shadows that wrapped themselves around Sandy, blotting out his ever-present glow. "I'll devour you," he warned. "I'll have you begging for the light."

Sandy’s smile was serene. He reached into the blackness with his small hands and Pitch gasped as he felt a warm, wonderful ache where nothing should exist. _And I'll have you begging for the dark_.

Ribbons of dream sand curled around the shadows and Pitch realized with a giddy whimper that despite his numerous new appendages, that glittering pastry puff _still_ had the upper hand.

 

***

 

At the next Guardian meeting, Jack was the one to bring desserts. "Chocolate chip cookie?" he offered to Pitch.

"No, thank you." Pitch replied, lounging comfortably on a black velvet divan that had mysteriously appeared in North's office. Sandman was lying across his lap, dozing lightly and using Pitch’s robes as a makeshift blanket. He ran his fingers through the plump little Guardian's hair. "I already have something sweet to nibble on."

"Okay." Jack pointed to the door. "I'm going to go find North and ask him if we can ban geriatric make-outs at all future events. Later."

Sandy opened an eye to watch Jack leave, then huffed and sat up so he could nuzzle Pitch’s chest. "I agree," Pitch sighed, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around the little man. "There's no accounting for taste."


End file.
